


The Snow Runs Red

by Angryweseals



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Disney Princesses
Genre: Fantasy, Kings & Queens, Not Beta Read, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryweseals/pseuds/Angryweseals
Summary: A wise man had told her that if she ever found something precious running was more important than staying to fight and die. So, run she did. Fast, faster than she ever had in life. Feet flying over stone and wood floors, downstairs and up corridors, through this door or that it didn’t matter, she had to get out. She couldn’t stay here any longer, trapped in corsets, behind walls. She cursed the man who decided a sometimes island was the best place to build a castle. A cage so pretty she didn’t see it for what it was until it was too late. She remembered coming here, remembered being excited and full of innocence and life.Run,Run,Run.She was excited to marry him, a man she barely knew. But that hardly mattered as he was a prince; princes were supposed to be kind and gallant. This one especially, why else would a dwarf curse him? Why else would he come to their cottage every wintery, cold night to play with her and her sister? Why else would he save them from the very same dwarf that cursed him? Why else would he make her his wife? Make her sister his brother’s wife? Take their mother with them to the palace? Why else?(Or a continuation of the fairytale Snow White, Rose Red)





	The Snow Runs Red

A wise man had told her that if she ever found something precious running was more important than staying to fight and die. So, run she did. Fast, faster than she ever had in life. Feet flying over stone and wood floors, downstairs and up corridors, through this door or that it didn’t matter, she had to get out. She couldn’t stay here any longer, trapped in corsets, behind walls. She cursed the man who decided a sometimes island was the best place to build a castle. A cage so pretty she didn’t see it for what it was until it was too late. She remembered coming here, remembered being excited and full of innocence and life.

Run,

Run,

_Run._

She was excited to marry him, a man she barely knew. But that hardly mattered as he was a prince; princes were supposed to be kind and gallant. This one especially, why else would a dwarf curse him? Why else would he come to their cottage every wintery, cold night to play with her and her sister? Why else would he save them from the very same dwarf that cursed him? Why else would he make her his wife? Make her sister his brother’s wife? Take their mother with them to the palace? Why else?

_Why else?_

_Why?_

She remembered his court’s words when her little family had first arrived. She had trusted their words, they seemed so kind and honest.

_How beautiful you are Snow White, hair black as ebony, skin white as snow, lips red as blood,_ they’d say. _What fire lives in your heart Rose Red, what fire lives in your veins. Such pretty princesses you’ll make._

Such pretty words. Such pretty lies. Sweet nothings, that phrase had never meant anything to her before…it did now. That’s all their words had been sweet and meaningless. She had been a fool to believe them. 

_Can’t let them catch me,_

_Can’t let them catch me,_

_Can’t let them catch me._

That’s all she thought over and over again, holding this tiny precious thing worth more than life itself. Protect it, that’s all she could do, she wondered if this would mean running forever. Never stopping, always hiding, always one step ahead with any steps back meaning capture at best, death at worst. The words of an old nursery rhyme Rose liked to sing floated through her head…

_Run, run, run, as fast as you can. You can’t outrun the Gingerbread Man._

The absurdity of it all made a laugh stumble out of her chest, if only it was the Gingerbread Man after her. If only her greatest fear was a creature who accessorized with gum drop buttons. She clutched a pair of scissors to her chest; it was pathetic really that this was her only weapon but it had worked against the dwarf so surely it would work against her princely husband and his guards. That dwarf, if only they had ignored it, left it, forgotten it; Rose would be alive. She would never have married the second son of a king, never would have gotten pregnant so young, would never have held the titles of princess and widow, never would have died to bring a little life into this world. The life that was everything that remained of her sister and the man she managed to love. The life she was running to protect. The life that was just as covered in blood as she was. She could still hear Rose singing,

_As fast as you can._

She had killed the prince, after he had tried to kill their nephew. A threat to his throne he had called the baby, little more than a week old with only an aunt and grandmother left to guard him. He had tried to kill the last piece of her sister, so she killed him with the very scissors that had saved the dwarf three times over. The scissors she now held as her only pathetic weapon. They were covered in blood now. Blood as red as her lips. If only her prince’s court could see her now, see her lips red as blood and skin white as snow. See how she seemed paler, lips redder, hair darker from the blood that now covered her snow-white skin.

She had killed a new king. A man on the verge of his coronation. She had his heir with her. She was leaving the country leaderless. She wondered what they’d do with her if she stayed, would they kill her? Call her the savior of the now infant king? Whose life was more important?

It killed her, leaving, leaving her mother behind to fend for herself. They’d never have made it.

_They’d never have made it._

_They’d never have made it._

_They’d never have made it._

They’d never have- why was she forced out? He was the one that tried to kill a baby. She stopped running. Moving to hide behind a column; she breathed. She thought about what the wise man had said. Running is more important when you have something precious. She looked down at the child in her arms, so oblivious to what he was to become. If she left now, if she ran, he’d never be king. They could disappear. But what then? He’d never be king. But who would? Would he be better than her late husband? Probably not, she couldn’t remember any of her husband’s family being any better than him. Most were worst if she recalled correctly.

Some part of her was screaming to _just leave._ Damn them all to hell. Take her nephew and raise him to be a kind, smart boy somewhere far, far away. They could keep their heads down with the rest of their people until the unrest caused by terrible kings became too much for people to bear and a revolution started, and they would be free. But how long would that take? Years? Centuries? Never? What kind of person would she be if she left it all to fate; knowing she could help? Again, she remembered the nursery rhyme,

_You can’t outrun the Gingerbread Man._

Did she have to outrun him? Could she fight him? Could she change the world by staying? Could she make people’s lives better? If she stayed, would that stop what happened to her happening to some other little girl with eyes too wide and bright to see traps where they thought princes stood? She closed her eyes. She couldn’t leave now. The thoughts swirling around her head wouldn’t let her. All she had to do now was convince her husband’s advisors not to kill her. Not to brand her a traitor. Easier said than done.

_Can you kill the Gingerbread Man?_

An idea started to form. A stupid, reckless idea that harkens back to the days of usurper kings but an idea none the less. She starts to move. Walking back to the nursery, quick and quiet, careful not to be seen, not yet. She kept thinking back to how it all started. How she had put her nephew into his crib and turned around. How when she turned back her husband was standing there with a knife. How he explained that his brother’s child, _her sister’s child,_ was a threat to his throne. She remembered how her hand went to grab the dresser behind her and landed on a pair of scissors. She hadn’t questioned her instincts; he was raising the knife and she was lunging forward. She hadn’t thought as she buries into the scissors in his throat. Hadn’t let herself flinch as the blood hit her chest. She remembered how she knelt next to him and stared him in the eyes; felt the blood soak through her skirt as he took his last breath. How she jolted back as her nephew started crying. How she grabbed him and started running without thinking of what to do next. 

She was nearing the nursery now. Her heart was pounding,

Pounding,

Pounding,

Pounding in her chest. She was at the threshold. She could see the body. She walked across the room and put the young heir in his crib. She knelt down glaring at the empty eyes that stared back at her. She reached forward and pulled the magnificent crown toward her. She stood looking at the crown in her hands. It felt like she was holding the weight of the world as she lifted it slowly and placed it on her head. She felt the weight settle on her as if she had placed a fur cloak on her shoulders. She stood tall. She would not falter.

She reached for a cloak she had left in the room earlier to cover the bloodstained dress, pulling the hood up over her head. She picked up her heir and left the room not bothering to close the door behind her. She entered the hallway, steadily approaching the throne room, not caring who saw her now. She looked at a nearby guard.

“Have all the lords and ladies of the court brought to the throne room,” her tone leaves no room for question or argument. When she reaches the doors the two guards on either side push them open for her. She cuts across the room; climbing the stairs to stand in front of the king’s throne. She ignores the whispers and murmurs of the people assembling in front of her. She watches them all, marks their faces, and waits.

Waiting,

Waiting,

Waiting.

Waiting for silence to fall over the gathered crowd. Waiting until they tense at her every breath. Waiting until she can feel the sun on her neck as the first rays of morning light clear the window. Waiting until she knows she is illuminated; appearing radiant as she pushes the hood of her cloak back and lets the king’s crown glitter in the sunlight. She hears their gasps. She waits until the room is silent once more.

“Last night,” her voice is clear and strong. She will not falter. “Your new King tried to kill our nephew. He tried to kill your heir. He tried to kill a babe in his cradle. I killed the king.” The whispers and murmurs have started again growing into yells of shock and outrage. She isn’t sure if they are directed at her; still, she does not falter. She unclasps her cloak and lets the bloodstained gown show. The cries rise and she lets them. She waits until silence falls for a third time.

“The King is dead.”

Her voice carries across the room as she sits upon the throne. She hears her mother’s voice, as if in response.

“Long Live the Queen.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I wrote and thought I'd post....Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you want, I'd love to know what you think!


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